Under Control
by Sir-Mercutio-McHuffer
Summary: The story of a raccoon, and of how he became Rocket.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** I shouldn't be starting another fic! Optimistically, though, when I'm back at uni I'll re-write my old ones and continue them.

This fic isn't going to be my best work. It's going to be fun, easy to write, and touching. This is going to be a cockle warmer, mainly because I need my cockles warmed, and I figured sharing is caring (I'm sure there are some crazy people out there who'll enjoy this fic).

I will give you a heads up now, if you want canon, you really don't want this fic. This fic is, like the other one Magdalena is in, complete self gratification and cockle warming. Also, if you've read my Star Wars fic, you'll recognise Magdalena. Same chick, different fandom. She just seems to be my self-gratification character :D

When you get to it, all the stories about borzoi are totally true. I have one of my own and I'm writing them based on her. They are very pointy.

**Translations:**

Pīwakawa - New Zealand native fantail.

Kererū - New Zealand endemic wood pigeon.

Tuī - the "parson bird", a New Zealand endemic honey eater.

**Disclaimer:**

I own nothing you recognise. I am also not a vet or a medical professional of any sort, so despite making reasonable endeavours to be correct, I do expect there to be some inaccuracies. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

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><p>It was always a beautiful day at the clinic when the health checks were routine, the chronic patients were still ticking over and stable on their meds, and the surgeries went off without a hitch. Well, there was one cat who just did not want to wake up after sedation, so she had talked at it, a lot, but it had woken up after a good sixteen minutes.<p>

Sixteen minutes of singing badly and describing all the meals she really wanted to make but never quite had time to. Her nurse shut the door after the first five minutes. Magdalena just sang louder.

"Seriously, pumpkin," Daisy said once the mog's cage was set up on the heatpad, cover drawn down and head rolling side to side in confusion. "You sound like a dying cat, you really do." Magd slashed her a grin and launched into an overly enthusiastic rendition of Raffi's _Bananaphone_. Daisy threw a pen at her in disgust.

Even more delightful was the distinct lack of emergencies _all day_. Which meant that Magd was completely up to date with all her paperwork at 6.00pm, instead of her usual 8.00pm. Which meant that she was arriving home shortly after 7, to the _incredible_ delight of her rather large white and cream borzois, Dancer and Pavel, who greet her by hurling themselves at Magd and wrapping their front paws over her shoulders, liberally sprinkling her face with excited pointy-nose kisses.

The weather, being the typical schizophrenic weather Aucklanders fondly (or not so, depending on the weather at that minute) call 'Spring', had completed all four seasons in her drive home before finally settling at 'blue skies with not a cloud to be seen', immediately after 'blinding sideways rain'. Taking the opportunity the cloudless sky gave them, Magd completed her necessary greeting of the borzoi before putting gumboots on, grabbing a jacket, and opening the front gate.

There really was nothing quite as pleasant as a brisk stroll at dusk with her two prancing pups. Dancer, being the older and, therefore, more 'mature' one of the two, remained close to her mistress, while Pavel (only just turned two) explored the bush. The Pīwakawa were out with the insects, flitting past them to pluck food from the air and back up into the trees. Kererū sat, fat and lazy on sturdy branches and watched the cavorting dogs below, smug on their lofty perches. Tuī warbled from the canopy.

Despite the bush being filled with animal life, it was mostly quiet. The tuī were the loudest, their sweet intonation providing a balm to the calamity of the last few weeks. It had been _incredibly_ busy at the clinic. It was that time of the year when all the male cats decided to go ahead and get urinary blockages, and when their owners decided to call it in at 3pm.

"No rest for the wicked, eh Boss?" Daisy had said after the third such instance.

Dancer shuffling off into the underbrush brought Magd back to the present, spotting Pavel's white flag tail waving off in the middle distance. Dancer was heading straight for him, her own tail up high and her ears pricked forwards. Magd, curious as to what could have interested her more stately girl, followed behind, stepping over twigs and logs and pushing aside fern fronds.

Pavel had his head shoved part way down a hole, his front paws scrabbling to unearth whatever it was he had found. Dancer stood back, watching intently. A quick whistle had Pavel's head up, and a little 'shooing' motion had him stepping back and away from the hole in the ground. Crouching down low and pulling out her phone, Magd clicked on her 'flashlight' app (seriously, one of the most useful apps in the world) and shone it in.

It took a few seconds for her brain to catch up with what she was seeing, but her body was already in action. She pulled off her jacket and jumper, laying them down in the dirt outside the hole, before contemplating and also taking off her shirt. Swaddling one arm, she reached in and began to open the hole wider, giving her easier access to the little body inside. More importantly, allowing her to assess the condition of the creature _before_ moving it.

Hole now wide enough to fit her arms clear on either side of the body, she shoved both her arms down, gently brushing her fingertips along what she _thought_ must be the head. Ah, there we go. Zygomatic arch there. Mandible. Her fingers ghosted down the skull, brushing against the pinnae, then down to the neck and spine. So far so good. When her fingers reached his scapula, however, everything changed. Mass lacerations, some _really_ weird feeling shit in them, clearly severe contamination. Perhaps arrows, or bullets of some kind, that have just sat on the surface of the body. A lot of blood. The gentle pitter-patter of a heart going overtime, subtle rise-and-fall breath.

When she pulled out her arms, her hands were smothered in red. She looked up and around, scanning the surrounding area. Like Daisy would be _here_ of all places.

"Fuck," she said with feeling. There was no helping it. She put her arms back down the hole, reaching further in to carefully wriggle her hands beneath the form, fingers carding through sticky fur. Slowly, carefully, she pulled herself back, drawing the body up with her, until it was almost cradled against her chest and she could twist and place it on her jumper, wrapping the body and arms around it before zipping the jacket up over the bundle, ensuring the head remained free of cloth. There was no time to contemplate the peculiarities of the head shape – subtly different to feline, more similar to canine, but still not _quite_ right.

She unwrapped her t-shirt from around her arm and, after a second of contemplating whether or not she'd rather go topless and a bit chilly or have blood down her boobs, decided not to put it back on. Wrecked shirt shoved down her back pocket, Magd scooped up the bundle, cradled it to her chest, and started back the way she came, moving as carefully and smoothly as she could. Pavel and Dancer kept pace, both fixated on the wrapped animal in her arms, but fortunately neither under foot.

It was an agonising fifteen minutes later when they reached the gate to her house, lower back burning and arms shaking. Her precious cargo was a good fifteen kilos – give or take – and carrying that weight over such a length of time was _agonising_. She kicked open the door and the hounds rolled in, snapping at each others' heels ahead of her. The kitchen table would just have to do for now.

Depositing the bundle on the said table, Magd kicked off her gumboots and shooed the dogs out the back door and into the secured yard, then whipped around to her spare room to grab her 'toolkit' of emergency supplies. Grabbing the newspaper from the lounge, and a set of raggy old towels, she quickly prepped up the table. Towels first, then newspaper, then the bundle. The chairs she shoved to the edges of the room, keeping one to her side with her toolkit opened and ready to go. A flexi lamp perched on the edge of the table, on and pointed in the general direction of the lump of clothing.

She'd have to suck it up and do what she could with induction anaesthetics, being without her anaesthetic machine providing her with inhalants. Not ideal, but it would have to do.

Carefully, she unzipped her jacket and opened the arms of her jumper. In the stark light of of the lamp and kitchen lighting, Magd was absolutely certain this creature should not have survived this long. Its sternum, rather than being long and narrow, was broad and flat. Its shoulders splayed, hips twisted.

Magd took a step back, forcing bile down, clamping down on all unnecessary thought. This was not the time to get wound up.

Calm returned, she snapped on her surgical gloves, picked up her induction anaesthetics, and began treatment.

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><p><em>Like it? Love it? Review it!<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** So I was planning on getting this chapter out days ago, but then work got super duper busy. So here it is, a bit later than I intended. After actually reading Rocket's origination, I've changed how this whole thing pans out.

There is still going to be gratuitous cockle warming.

Next chapter will take a while as we're now in the Wind Up to Christmas. I also apologise for any tense switches. I've been writing in present tense for one of my fics and it's just a wee bit woobly there.

To those who have reviewed and/or faved/watched this - _I love you guys_. You keep me motivated to write more. Flattery will _always_ get you more fic.

**Things you may not be familiar with:**

Convenia - broad spectrum antibiotic injection, absolute veterinary godsend for difficult-to-pill cats.

Bactroban - topical antibiotic ointment. Really useful for torn claws.

Temgesic - opioid-based oral painkiller.

**Disclaimer:**

I own nothing you recognise. I am also not a vet or a medical professional of any sort, so despite making reasonable endeavours to be correct, I do expect there to be some inaccuracies. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

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><p>Magdalena began with a general check first, starting first with her stethoscope. Pushing it to the splayed chest, she felt around for a moment to find the lungs. Shallow but steady breathing, no burbling, nothing to indicate fluid in the chest cavity. She moved the stethoscope higher and to the side, listening intently, until she found the quick, but strong, thrum of its heart. No murmurs or arrhythmia. Placing that down, she moved onto her organ inspection.<p>

Due to the deformities in the pelvis and chest of the animal, the internal organs themselves may be located differently. Or utterly deficient. Well, only one place to start for organs: the large intestine. Locate the descending colon and you can usually trace your way through everything else. It was easily locatable, and felt in good condition – no inflammation. No stool, which was a bit peculiar... it was actually very empty. Upwards into the transverse and ascending colon, small intestine, check. Two kidneys, a bit distended and something she'd need to look into if it – sorry _he_, not even neutered – made it through the night. Side track to a mostly empty bladder. Upwards to a stomach, also empty, and a borderline-swollen feeling liver.

Internal organs all more-or-less in order, Magd moved on to the extremities. Curiously splayed forepaws were missing claws on each toe-tip, instead bloodied stumps cap them off. Massive infection risk. Break to the left ulna, fortunately not bad, most likely a fracture to the radius as well – the golden rule was if one was broken, the other would be damaged. The ulna and radius were formed in such a way that allowed massive increase in movement over a dog or cat fore-leg. What felt like severe bruising in the right humerus, leading up to, rather than a straight socket joint to the scapula, a ball-and-socket joint in a terrifyingly humanoid shoulder. The joint itself was swollen. Fingers carefully ran up scapula and clavicle to encounter the first severely contaminated laceration.

It arched back over the clavicle and forward almost to the sternum. Gentle probing of the wound had Magd throwing herself away from the body, taking deep gulps of air to prevent herself from vomiting. They weren't cuts, they were _implants_ of some kind, metal grafted to the underlying bone, skin weeping at the trauma of foreign objects. She bent down, lowering her head as tingles crawled up her spine. No, no, no throwing up _or_ passing out was allowed.

It took her a good minute before she felt she could hold everything in. Stepped back up to the table, grimly feeling past the metal, running her fingers down sternum and splayed ribs – it felt like a number of them _could_ be cracked – and further down to the pelvis. Once again, instead of the quadruped pelvis and hip, it was the broad and splayed pelvic system found in bipeds. The hip joints, like the shoulders, were badly swollen. No breaks or fractures to the femur, inflamed stifle, in tact tibia and fibula and a very normal tarsal joint.

Toes flexed normally, all with ripped or missing claws.

She rolled him carefully onto his stomach. Her stomach rolled at the mess that was his back. It was a raw wound, meat with stubs of metal poking through, covered in dirt and decaying foliage from his hiding place in the ground. _This_ would need the most aggressive treatment, and would be the most problematic. Such massive trauma never healed well or easily. Adding the unknown quantity of the metal 'implants'...

Magd pursed her lips, took up her electric razor, and set to work.

First order of business was setting and securing the ulna break. Clearing the hair from the foreleg, she took the time to really probe the area with her fingers. Without x-rays, she couldn't know how bad the fracture _really_ was, but the physical examination gave her a good gauge to work off. A cast would be ideal, but for the interim a splint and bandage would suffice. She could bring him in tomorrow for x-rays – no one would be at the clinic, and Daisy lived just around the corner if she _really_ wanted some company.

Securing the bandaging with an extra layer of the glorious self-adhesive tape, she moved onto the next and most daunting task. The back was bared muscle, with barely a shred of skin on it. Fibres gleamed sickly in the light, metal shrapnel interspersed amongst the tissue. Detritus stuck to the flesh. The scissors came out, chopping off bloody clumps of fur from the edges of the wound. She picked up her razor to clear the hair from a much wider area. She grabbed her saline, sterile cotton swabs and tweezers and began cleaning. By far the biggest piece of implant looked to be affixed on the thoracic curve of the spine, a large, thumb-sized glob of metal. Her stomach twitched as she wiped it.

When the time came to apply cream and wrap it up, Magd went whole-hog. _Every millimetre_ of damage was smothered in medical-grade honey, which at this stage of treatment was a bloody miracle-worker. Thick gauze padding went over the top, taped down to prevent it from moving about.

Another careful roll over allowed Magd to access the implants over his clavicles. These were much longer, but thinner, than the lump on his spine. They were also more precisely inserted, so rather than the broad skin-loss on his back, there were straight incisions around the implant. In contrast with the back, there was very little foreign object contamination. A brief clean later and it was ready for dressing. Once again, she spread a liberal amount of honey across these incisions, making sure the honey was pressed down and into the gaps between metal and skin, before applying thick gauze and tape.

Now came a more interesting problem. Based on the peculiarities of this creature's skeletal structure – something she was no longer _quite_ sure was purely congenital deformity, and adamantly _not thinking about_ right now – he would have a wider range of movement in virtually all of his joints, more in line with simian range. This would absolutely cause problematic for the healing of his back and shoulders. The back being the most sensitive and most potential for infection. This would involve some very inventive bandaging to restrict movement and a cone of shame.

She pulled out her bandages and began wrapping, beginning from the chest and going straight under the armpits, around the back, then back to the front. That was repeated a couple of times, ensuring the bottom of the gauze on the back initially covered, before going up under an armpit, over the shoulder and down across the chest. Loop around the chest again, across and up the back, over the shoulder and back under the armpit. This would protect the back _and_ the clavicle gauzes, and assist in reducing movement in the shoulder. Although she had to make sure it wasn't too tight so as to restrict breathing.

A few more repeats of that and she brought out the heavy duty self-adhesive bandages to do a few laps in. This would provide additional protection, and wasn't very easy to take off.

Daisy had laughed when they had first received the self-adhesive bandages. Much to Madg's delight, they came in all sorts of colours and patterns. The ones she had selected were pink paw prints. There was also a large supply of blue paw printed bandages back at the clinic, but a small portion of the pink ones had made their way into her own stash. It cheered her up to see her patient wrapped up in pink paw printed bandages.

Finally came the toes. These, she wouldn't be able to bandage. Rather, she cleaned them with saline and applied bactroban ointment to each, using a cotton bud to ensure the cream reached all of the affected nailbed. A convenia injection would top off the treatment, as well as a decent dose of oral temgesic for the pain. This would also help keep him spaced out and not incredibly mobile for most of the night, which would allow everything to settle.

Magd quickly removed her gloves and tidied up the mess she'd made. Shoving her kit under the table, she rushed over to the crate in the corner – set up for the borzoi to wander in and out of as they pleased. She stripped the whole thing, dumping newspapers and towels and bedding into her laundry to be dealt with later. A quick spray with trigene and a thorough clean down to steralise as best as she could before relining it with newspapers and clean towels. A little bowl of water followed, all she'd allow for now, and a plastic kiddies' stool with a sheet thrown over it for a hiding place.

She fitted on a new pair of gloves to administer the anaesthetic reversal, and carefully picked up the wee creature, placing him his stomach in the crate. Now she could let her hands shake, and shake they did. So much so that she sat down next to the crate door and shoved them between her thighs, resting her head against the bars of the cage, eyes glued to the gentle rise-and-fall of the creature's bandaged back.

She'd have to think about what this all meant, and soon. The totally altered state of the skeletal system in this little animal was terrifying. But she wouldn't go down that road yet, because the thought that he'd been _engineered_ was just too much. Add the metal implants and her brain was in all kinds of clusterfuck mode. She'd take him in for x-rays once he was stable – hopefully as early as tomorrow – and take it from there. That would also give her a good idea of just how the implants were attached to him. Perhaps she could remove the clavicle pieces. The spinal implant she wouldn't touch with a barge pole, unless it turned out to be far enough away from his column that she could do it safely.

But for now, she'd keep it quiet. The people who had done this to him, regardless of whether he'd been engineered or not, would no doubt be looking for him. Bringing him to the SPCA's attention would only provide unwanted media attention, and the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to fall back into the hands of those responsible. Once she got more of an idea of what was going on, once she'd done some research, she'd reassess then.

The breathing hitched, paused. She waited, fingers curling into her palms, for that next breath. When it came it was shuddering, but the next breath was quicker. He was rousing. As soon as his little eyes had opened and his head had started to sway, she pulled down the sheet that covered the cage and secured the door, spinning a piece of wire around the latch as an extra precaution. Only a little sliver of light would disturb the wee lad as he recovered, and that was only for her to peek in without disturbing him overly. Plenty of cozy dark space for an easy transition from unconsciousness to drugged-up semi-wakefulness.

Magd stood up, stripped off her last round of gloves, and began to clear up the mess of her kitchen table.

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><p><em>Like it? Love it? Review it!<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Jiminy Christmas this took _way_ longer than it should have. It was the chapter that did not want to end.

Thank you to all the reviewers, I have read and loved each and every one of them, and I hope you continue to enjoy the show!

**Disclaimer:**

I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

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><p>The morning, when it arrived, was heralded by Pavel deciding it was up time and climbing up the bed, 'patting' his paw on the back of Magdalena's head. The 'patting' was more like 'punching' due to the delightfully pointy nature of said paws. Regardless of the definition, it had its intended effect of waking Magd up. She groaned and shoved Pavel, but he just used her arms to align himself to flop down on her chest, stomach and legs, and throw his head back into her face. A further groan and she shifted over so Pavel was no longer applying pressure to her rather full bladder. He just wriggled more and sniffed her ear.<p>

"Jesus christ on a broomstick, fine, we're getting up," she growled, wriggling her way out from between the dogs. Dancer was far too dignified to engage in morning play-time. Pavel, on the other hand, had little dignity remaining. He stood up and jiggled excitedly for a moment before leaping off the bed and skidding on the wood floor to the door. Magd stumbled to the bathroom in her undies and emerged with a much lighter bladder and a singlet top on. Then out into the kitchen, open the door for the pups to go out and relieve themselves and start the kettle for an instant-sachet-mocha. She got as far as opening the fridge door before she realised everything was wrong.

The door to the crate was wide open, both dogs fixated and staring at the bench top, the small area between the microwave and the wall. There lurked her missing patient, huddled into the darkness. A glint of light off metal and she realised there was a knife in there with him. A second more and she realised he was _holding_ the knife directly at Dancer and Pavel.

"_**OUT**_," she howled, throwing herself between the benchtop and the borzoi, legs splayed and arms out to block the dogs. She caught the eyes of her patient and stared him down, relieved when she heard the scrabble of claws on tile as both dogs exited as quickly as they possibly could. She reached behind her and snagged the door shut without taking her eyes off the small form in the corner of her bench. She stood her ground, just out of reach of the knife (she hoped). "Now," she began, "I would like you to please put down the knife and allow me to check you over to make sure nothing has slipped or reopened."

"Why should I trust you?" came the raspy voice from the corner. Her brain stumbled and fell. "You could be one of _them_, you had me in a _cage_," it snarled.

"_What the fuck_," she breathed, legs turning to jelly beneath her. Her patients had never spoken to her before. In fact, that was one of the reasons she _was_ a vet. Her patients didn't talk back. That didn't stop _her_ from talking to _them_, but this was different. He could _talk_ to her. "What _happened_ to you?" she asked, stepping forward. A snarl from the corner, emphasised by a swirl of the knife, halted her steps. "I'm not here to hurt you," she said slowly and carefully. "I'm a vet, a healer, and I'm here to help you."

"Right, and I'm a monkey's uncle, _you drugged me!_" He came out of the shadows now, and stood up to his full height, which had him towering over her with his standing height advantage.

"I didn't know you were sentient! I gave you a general anaesthetic so you wouldn't move while I splinted your arm and cleaned your back, and after _that_ I gave you painkillers so you wouldn't _hurt_ quite as much. You're due for your next dose now, and as you've moved about _far_ too enthusiastically I need to check you over to make sure you haven't done more damage." Magd threw her arms up in the air and looked askance of the ceiling. "And I'm explaining myself to an animal. I have officially gone 'round the bend."

"Look, I," he seemed to deflate a bit, knife hanging loosely from his paw. The right paw, fortunately.

"Why don't you just come with me to the table and let me check you haven't undone anything, and we can take it from there, okay?" Magd pleaded. "You can leave any time you like after that, but I would _really_ like to get some x-rays done on your arm and the metal bits to see what else I can do, and you're going to need medication." He eyeballed her for a moment, but the fight had gone out of him. His ears and whiskers had drooped with his shoulders, a peculiar mix of animal and human body language that set Magd's brain whirring. "Please?" That seemed to do it. He placed the knife down carefully and shimmied down from the bench, hissing with pain as he did so.

Fortunately, Magd had left her vet kit out last night, knowing it would be useful to have it on hand this morning. She dragged it out from under the table. "Please, would you sit on this chair, and I'll explain everything I'm doing. You'll be able to see what I'm taking out of the kit as well."

"How do I know you're not hiding anything?" came his caustic response. Magd just hitched an eyebrow.

"Do I look like I have pockets?" she said, gesturing to her underpants and singlet top. The furry creature took a moment to take her in, _really_ take her in, and blinked, pursed his lips. "I'm not going to hurt you, and I will keep telling you that and showing you that until you believe me," she continued, a little more gently. He reluctantly hopped up onto the chair, where she asked him to. She pulled up a chair of her own in front of him and bent forward.

This close and in better lighting, Magd couldn't believe she'd mistaken him for a dog or a cat. The muzzle and facial structure were far too different to be either canid or felid. The muck on him made it difficult to decide what colour he really was. When she'd cleared away patches last night, his fur had cleaned up a smokey grey-black.

"Okay," she said, hands reaching slowly for his arm. His body recoiled even as his arm remained in place. "I'm going to just feel the area around the break to see if anything has shifted. I really need to get a good x-ray in so that I can make sure the bone ends line up properly." He just nodded, and her fingers began their careful probe. In her periphery she could see his face scrunch up, lips baring long and pointed teeth in agony as she felt the fracture around her splints. "I would really like to give you some more painkillers. You don't _have_ to be in this much pain," she said, not raising her eyes to his. He snorted but it came out half-strangled as she hit the fracture itself.

She sat back and placed her hands on her knees. "Well, your break seems to be aligned. Like I said, I really need to get a good x-ray in to ensure that, but I am okay with that sitting as it is _for now_." She frowned down at her little patient who glared up in response. "I'm going to inspect your claws to see how they're healing," she said, reaching forwards again to take one tiny paw in her own hands. He flinched. She waited, fingers loosely touching his paw. At the tiniest relaxation in his fingers, she continued her examination, carefully not looking at his face. They were all red and sore, but not inflamed, nor did any look infected. A quick check of all other nails produced the same result.

She reached into her kit and pulled out her blunt-nosed scissors. "Now I'm going to cut off the bandages around your chest to inspect your back and shoulders," she said, leaning forwards again and very carefully inserting the lower jaw of the scissors between skin and bandage.

Every muscle in the little guy's body was tense, his eyes showing the whites as he held himself _very_ still. He twitched at the first snip. By the time she was half-way up his chest, he had lost the terror, but was still watching her with keen and wary eyes. He hadn't relaxed a single muscle. She made the last snips across his shoulders and stood up, moving around to slowly, carefully, peel the bandages from his back.

They were already soaked through with red, the gouges around the largest of the metal implants weeping sluggishly. "You did reopen them," she explained quietly, placing the scissors off to one side and picking up her saline squirty-bottle and a sterile swab pack. "I'm going to clean the ones on your back again and then we'll strap them up." She paused, bottle clutched in hand. "Are you sure I can't give you ..." He cut her off.

"No. Don't want nothing." His teeth were clenched, the words forced through them. She sighed and continued, carefully bathing the area and cleaning systematically, wincing at every flinch and twitch. It was a relief when she was done and could re-apply the dressings, the less painful portion of the process.

"Would you please hold your arms away from your body so I can wrap this up?" she asked gently, scooping up her roll of pink-pawed self-adhesive bandages. He complied slowly and, careful not to touch him or crowd him, Magd began to bind him back up, going around his chest, over his shoulders and under his arms. Once done, she tucked the end in and sat back. "Now, can I offer you a shower and some food?" He immediately bristled and jumped off the chair, skittering away from her.

"No shower, not that," he snarled, ears back and teeth bared. She held her hands up and pulled herself back, trying to remain as non-threatening as possible.

"Okay," she said levelly. "I can fill the basin with some water and we can get a bit of that dirt off you. You'll feel a lot better clean and fed." After a moment of contemplation, his ears lose their flattened look and begin to lift and turn sideways. "We'll do it just over here, on the kitchen bench, where you were before. You'll be able to see the _whole_ room from there, and the window is just there and open enough if you need to get out." His ears settle for a perplexed flap and his shoulders relaxed. He grunted his belligerent consent. Magd beamed.

A quick trip to the laundry later and she had a pile of old towels and face cloths stacked up on the kitchen bench with her wee patient sitting on the edge of the smaller of the two kitchen sinks, the larger now filled with warm water.

"I'm going to help you with this, as you've only got one arm and I don't want to get your bandages wet, okay?" he nodded once, lips tight and ears flattened again. So, carefully, she picked up one of the hand towels and wet it, taking his un-damaged arm and just gently sponged his hand. The water that fell into the sink was a muddy brown. She rinsed the hand towel and brought it out dripping, trickling it over his arm. Rinse and repeat. Soon the muddy water turned clear, and she moved on to his head. "I'm going to put a couple of towels around your shoulders to soak up any moisture that does dribble down, mmkay?" She didn't wait for a response, but rather lifted one of her fluffier towels and wrapped it over him loosely, leaving his neck and head free for wiping.

For his face, she squeezed out the majority of the moisture before carefully starting around his muzzle, mindful of his whiskers, up along his zygomatic arches and across his brow. As she cleaned, the distinctive pale muzzle and black mask of an _utterly_ foreign mammal started to show. She finished up his ears and the back of his head before unswaddling him from the towel and turning to his legs. She would not think about the fact that she was currently _bathing_ a talking raccoon.

Shit would get real weird real quick if she started thinking about that.

His back paws were in better shape than his fronts. His legs didn't have anywhere near the level of muck, and his tail was scraggly with bald patches from where it had been shaved off. A gentle towel down and he was looking, if not more relaxed, certainly a lot cleaner.

"Right, now, how about some food," Magd said as she cleaned away the sink, the raccoon hopping down from the bench and tottering over to inspect the cushioned window seat and the pile of books thereon.

"What're these?" he asked, pointing at the books.

"They're books," she explained, walking over to him. He looked at them, puzzled. She picked one up and opened it, showing it to him. "They're words written down, this one tells a story, I've just about finished it." His fingers brushed the page, curious and tactile. His whiskers pulled back against his face and his lips firmed, fingers retracting. Steeling himself. "Now, what would you like for breakfast?" Magd asked gently as she returned the book to its pile.

"That stuff before was nice, what's that?"

"That was cat food," she replied flatly. "I'm not feeding you _cat food_, especially not now I'm talking to you."

"Why not? It was better than I used to got given."

"Get, and no. We'll have some poached eggs. Anyway, you need feeding up," she tutted, turning back to the kitchen. One poached egg maker (best Christmas present to herself ever) on the gas hob with water promptly heating to the boil. Four eggs into the poacher, two pieces of Vogels bread in the toaster – she wasn't going to test an unknown gastric system on foods she wouldn't feed her own dogs, so she'd be the only one eating toast. Two plates clinked on the benchtop, a bag of mesclun salad opened and liberal amounts of greenery distributed across both plates. Toast popped, butter came out to spread over it and eggs topped off each browned slice. Two more eggs popped to one side of a large pile of young leaves on the second plate. A quick grab through the cupboards revealed some walnuts, which she sprinkled on top.

The raccoon watched her all the while, narrowed eyes taking in every twitch, every unconscious shrug.

When she turned back with two plates full of food and two forks, he was sitting on the chair, toes dangling over the edge and tail swinging lazily. Magd smiled broadly and stepped up to the table, placing one plate in front of her patient – the one with no toast – and the other directly opposite. Each plate got a fork, and she quickly moved around to push his chair in before tending to her own.

She was suddenly thankful she'd bought a low table, herself being quite diminutive, or this could have been an awful lot more awkward than it was. As it was, he reached for his food with his hands and face, and Magd really couldn't fault him for it too much. She mashed her poached egg into a mess on one piece of toast and picked it up, leaning on her elbows while she slowly ate and observed her little acquaintance.

He was ravenous, that much was obvious. The first egg was slurped up in seconds, nothing left but white flecks on whiskers. The second egg took a few seconds longer, but not by much. She was only half way through her first egg-on-toast when he began eyeing up her remaining poached egg. She snorted and shoved her plate over until he could reach it. Given the look of heartbreakingly blissful thanks he gave her, it was the right thing to do.

He needed it a damn sight more than she did.

The green stuff went down slower, as he had to actually chew it, but he would hold the pieces in his hands and angle them into his molars. But before long, his plate was clean and he was starting to droop. Ears and whiskers and eyelids and shoulders were sagging, heavy with a full stomach and a body in full recovery mode.

"If you'd like to have a nap I have a spare bedroom," Magd said, finishing off the last of her salad. The raccoon jerked awake, eyes narrowing at her.

"Don't need to sleep," he growled out.

"The door locks from the inside, and it's easy enough to leave the window unlatched so you can just push it open," she cajoled, standing up from the table and gathering up their plates, shoving them in the sink with the rest of the cooking implements to soak in hot water. Egg was a _bitch_ to get off once it had dried. "And I'll have more food ready for you when you wake up." His ears perked at that.

"More of those things we just eated?"

"Ate, and yes, if you'd like. And some more nuts, too." She began down the hallway, and the biped raccoon followed after her. She opened the door to a large room with massive, vertical-hinged windows and a single bed tucked in beneath it. "You can lock the door behind me, and if you really need to that window is a short drop to the ground. The dogs can't get there, so you'll be safe from them. But when you wake up, if you open that door and come out, I'll have food waiting for you." Magd smiled reassuringly as he stepped into the room and began to explore. He looked back at her and nodded, once. It wasn't a promise but rather an acknowledgement that he would take it under advisement. She left and shut the door. She was nearly back in the kitchen when she heard the lock snick shut.

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	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** It's a short one because I wanted to get this chapter out and gone. Also, it's late. Why am I not sleeping? Because apparently inspiration hits at midnight.

Also, all my lovely reviewers / followers / favers? I absolutely love you guys. There is nothing quite as motivating as a lovely review :)

**Disclaimer:**

I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

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><p>Magd put on a roast chicken. She had one in the fridge, one of those standard store-branded ones that come in an oven bag and are stuffed with additional moisture to make the most succulent and moist roast chicken imaginable. She'd make some stock from the carcass, or maybe a meaty soup. She had a few hocks in the freezer, miscellaneous bits of lamb and a few scraps of rabbit. It'd be a peculiar one, but it would be quite delicious.<p>

And just what the raccoon would need, if he deigned to remain.

She needn't have worried. About ten minutes before the chicken was ready – it's smell permeating the kitchen – the spare bedroom door unlocked and opened and a whiffling nose poked out. Small paws clicked down the hallway and he emerged into the kitchen blinking the sleep from his eyes and looking exhausted.

"Lunch will be ready in a moment," Magd said, pulling out two plates just to emphasise her point. "Have a seat, I'll dish it up. How does your stomach feel?"

He hopped up on his chair and rubbed his stomach. "Feels fine," he replied, placing his paws on the table and staring at them. There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Er, I just realised, do you have a name?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of the table and its occupant. He looked blankly at her. "How should I refer to you?"

"My designation is 8931P. Subject 8931P," he replied, not looking up from his hands, shoulders curling inwards.

"Well I'm not going to call you that, that's just a terrible way of reducing your worth!" Magd pulled the chicken from the oven and placed it to one side. "We'll have to think of an actual name for you. You'll be able to choose your own name," she said, viciously carving into the chicken. She piled his plate high with rocket salad, sprinkled with walnuts (he seemed to quite enjoy them), and chicken breast. A leg and a thigh followed. She took the plate over to him and went back to prepare her own plate. When she had heaped on her own meal, she turned back to find him watching her closely, his plate still untouched.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. She paused mid-step. Put her foot down. Shrugged.

"Because you're hurt," she said, pulling her chair out with a foot and placing her plate on the table. "I'd be doing this even if you couldn't talk and were destroying the furniture. I just..." Magd paused and spent a moment organising her cutlery on either side of her plate, intent on ensuring the knife and fork were perfectly perpendicular. "I think everything and everyone should feel safe and not be in pain." She looked at the raccoon then, meeting his intent gaze. He considered her a moment longer, then shrugged and looked down at his food, picked up a walnut, and popped it in his mouth.

Magd picked up the leg on her plate and began to eat. It was good, if very simple, fare. Exactly what a healing body with a moderately unknown digestive system needed. As her ward ate, she got up and filled two glasses with water, placing one next to him and the other at her plate side. She returned to her meal, sipping as she went along. The raccoon mimicked her with the cup, clutching it with both his paws and bringing it to his muzzle. After a few aborted tries, he finally got the hang of tipping the cup just enough to get a sip. Which was a relief. She didn't think he would appreciate 'sippy cups' used to train toddlers how to cup.

The meal continued, and was finished, in silence. It was the kind of silence that would not be filled by small-talk. Magd finished well before the raccoon did – he was quite content to munch his way through individual leaves of salad and walnuts – and so collected her plate and piled her utensils into the dishwasher. "Would you like some more?" she asked, motioning to the chicken. He shook his head, walnut half in his mouth.

"No, I think this will keep me full for a while," he replied and turned back to his meal. Shrugging, Magd covered the chicken and popped it into the fridge. She tottered over to her window seat and grabbed her book, curling up on the cushions so that she could both read and keep an eye on her guest.

It was some time before said guest eventually rolled himself of his chair. He paused for a moment, ears twitching and eyes flicking between the table and Magd. She kept her eyes resolutely on her book, watching him via her periphery vision. He moved into action, taking his plate from the table and placing it in the dishwasher, just in front of her own. She looked up.

"Thank you for doing that," she said. He scuffed his feet and avoided her smile. A sudden thought had her wide eyed with glee. "Have you ever been introduced to the television?" He shook his head. She laughed her delight, unfolding herself from the window seat and padding over to her sofa. "Oh, my little friend, let me introduce you to the devourer of time and source of much hilarity." She picked up the remote and patted the other cushion on her sofa.

He climbed into her armchair and settled down. She shrugged it off and turned the TV on.

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